Ever Changing Times
by Jassic M
Summary: There are some things that just don't fall into your lap. But you have to make do with what you have.


_There are some things that just don't fall into your lap. But you have to make do with what you have._

* * *

i.

A happy ever after story involves Person A and Person B overcoming all obstacles, standing through all the tests of time and finally, retiring into the warmth of each other's embrace from here to eternity.

That was not their story. Maybe it would never be.

But there were many moments they'd catch themselves thinking, "What if?"

Only to shake their heads, and embrace reality.

* * *

ii.

The world offered many things to his senses, and he took in as much as he could. He'd fly off to one exotic location to the other, writing and reporting with so much fury, the other reporters were sure awards were on his way. He was, there was no mistaking it. Only if, on the other end of the road, she wasn't hell bent towards the same goal.

Word was that if you asked Charlie Skinner to look at least decent and presentable for five goddamned minutes, you'd get Leona Harris.

So now here they were, writing up the reports with deadlines looming over the horizon. The skies were clear, and you could probably map up constellations. But they were in a foreign place, and people from the other side of the world, who didn't bother to look up at the sky, needed to know what was going on.

Oh, he was finished five minutes ago, and now he was just bored.

So he breaks the silence.

"Wanna bet?"

She doesn't give any indication that she heard him, she clearly was focused on construction of the report.

"Loser buys the the winner a drink."

"That's how bets work, I believe."

"So you have been listening."

"No, I was multitasking."

He grinned, and by some grace of God, she looked up and gave it back.

"The report that gets the most attention wins." she said, fingers still crafting the report.

"Deal."

Charlie Skinner lost around two months worth of his salary in one night. He was never happier to do so.

* * *

iii.

For two people who report the news, they more or less know that the truth can't hide forever. It's there, if you knew where to look.

But here they were, walking down the riverside of another godforsaken place, insects and the cold biting down any exposed skin. The two of them didn't mind, they had each other's company.

They were talking about how odd it was that their bosses kept sending them to the exact same location to do the news. Belonging to rival news outlets that took competition seriously, Charlie would tell her that their situation was too West Side Story for his taste. Leona would reply that there should be some considerable distance in between them, lest they be hanged for working together on a story.

"That rule only applies when we're in New York," Charlie declared. "Out here, you need all the help you can get."

The two of them searched for the truth together. Doing that, the reports they made were the best things you could ever read on the broadsheets.

Charlie Skinner would never tell her that he liked being with her so much, he'd beg to be assigned where she was.

* * *

iv.

Scars would always be there. A reminder of bravery, facing danger, being alive.

Or quite possibly idiotic things that you would rather forget.

"Ow. Ow. OH FUCK-"

"Hold still moron."

Getting into bar fights, because someone decided to make a rude gesture towards your companion, and then getting the shit beaten out of you - yes, Charlie really wanted to forget that.

But Leona would never let him.

"The secret, Skinner, is that you do not let them get to you. You are above them, so you act like so, and you do not stoop down to their level."

Her voice was calm.

"They were being rude and-"

"Charles Skinner, if I wanted help, I would ask for help. If you do not hear me asking for help, do not even think about helping."

She packed up the first aid kit away, and threw him a clean shirt.

"Dress up, your abdomen is unsightly to my eyes."

"I'll have you know, it's developing nicely."

"No they are not."

In the middle of the night, she slips beside him, but the pillow is in between. It's a small fight, really. When they wake up, it's as if last night didn't happen. At least that's what Charlie thought.

She didn't talk to him from Monday to Thursday.

By Friday, his most pressing problem was he forgot to buy a necktie for the night's event. He cursed the day he became a good journalist, for, if he wasn't, then he wouldn't be receiving this award. He also cursed the night that his mind told him that his tie could bring down his opponent.

She showed up just before he decided to leave for the event. She frowned at his choice of wardrobe. She opened the box she was carrying, took out the content, and swung it around his neck. In a matter of seconds, he sported a bright red bowtie.

"It should take the attention away from those godawful marks. It was dumb of you to use your tie as a weapon against your opponent."

"I was grasping at straws. Sorta literally."

That night, he got another award for his "journalistic reporting". He also danced the night away, with Leona in his arms. She'd playfully poke his chest when given the chance - she knew where his bruises were.

Charlie Skinner found out that bruises disappear in time. He wished that the bruises he got didn't do the same. He wished he got scars instead of bruises.

* * *

v.

She was shivering. He was blaming himself. Should have cooked for the two of them.

Now she has some stomach flu, and he was doing what he can to make her comfortable.

"Charlie, stop. I'll be fine in the morning." she managed to say, but it was still unconvincing.

Charlie said nothing. It wasn't that it was betrayal. But she did approach a new source instead of following the lead they had. Which caused some outbursts here and there. Which led to he dinner someplace the two of them were familiar with. Which led to this.

In truth, Charlie was comfortable seeing Leona with the new guy in their group. But he couldn't fault her, they were doing the news.

He wasn't comfortable seeing her with other men, period. (She wasn't his, why would he think of that?)

No. This time, she was doing the news. He was being an idiot. And he was going to do something about it. When she felt better.

She shivered again. He was about to sleep anyway, so he drew up the chair near her and held her hand. He gave it a small kiss before he drifted off to sleep.

Leona Harris was never more grateful for a hand to hold, during and after the whole flu ordeal.

* * *

vi.

The relationship was a secret. And it will remain a secret until they would either, quiet from their respective companies, or that their companies would merge.

For reasons passing understanding, they liked living on the edge.

Charlie, too much so.

It was the one trip she wasn't allowed to go to. Protection, security, keeping our best interests on hand; that's what they told her. Bullshit, you send me to the dangerous parts of Asia, and you can't send me to the Middle East?

She was up for a promotion. Also, a proposal, if that was what the ring was for.

"Five months. It's just five months. What's five months of waiting?" he told her. (He hasn't mentioned the ring. She didn't tell him that she knew.)

Five weeks in, they receive the news that the convoy carrying journalists was attacked by the rebels.

The next three months and three weeks were the most fucking painful days of her life.

Leona Harris didn't know which one she would rather have; not knowing about the ring, or not meeting Charlie.

* * *

vii.

"Leona."

"Charlie."

Two years ago, if you asked Leona Harris who Charlie Skinner was, she would tell you that he was a brave, reckless man, who had the most idealistic brain this side of the country.

Not is, was.

So you can imagine her shock when, two years ago, she was introduced to Charlie Skinner, legendary investigative journalist, who was recently kicked out of the small publication for causing general discomfort to anyone who worked with and for him.

He had the same cheerful glint in his eyes, the same up and at it attitude she loved and hated.

He was wearing the same bowtie she gave him all those years ago.

"How are you?" he asked.

She was about to respond, when a high pitched voice stopped her.

"Mom!"

His shoes filled the air between them. He immediately latched himself onto his mother's leg.

"And who is this?"

"My name is Reese James Lansing, sir." the boy said, straightening up and extending his hand.

"Charlie Skinner, friend of your mom." Charlie replied, taking the end and giving it a firm shake.

That day, Charlie had her back - he was going to help around in her husband's endeavour of establishing a media corporation.

Leona Lansing wished she could go back. But yes, this was supposed to happen. People move on to greater things.

* * *

viii.

The whole floor erupted with applause. Charlie practically ran to the two of them, to offer his congratulations.

Leona took her son aside, whispered amidst all commotion, "You did well today Reese."

Champagne, cigars were being passed around. The thrill of the election was in the air, amplified by the news that, finally, Will McAvoy and MacKenzie McHale were going to be married.

The mood was light. All was right in the world. Leona took a chair, propped her legs up the monitor, and began reading the report written in front of her.

"Better take this all in, before Dantana messes it up tomorrow." Charlie said, toying with the tumbler in his hand.

"I do not give a fuck about Dantana right now, and so should you." Leona replied.

They looked at the sight unravelling before them. So much has changed within these past years. People came in, left. People grew. The world gave way to the changes.

The two of them took different paths, chose different options.

"Sometimes I wonder," she started. "If I chose differently. Would I be here?"

She wasn't asking him in particular, but as always, he was there to respond. "Obviously."

He set down the tumbler and put his hands inside his pockets. "But for some reason, I'd be there too."


End file.
